


Could Be Something As Simple As This

by ellevaire



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: But not overly explicit sex, Enjolras is really in love, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Overly fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 04:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellevaire/pseuds/ellevaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Enjolras, I find that I am both incredibly amenable to and interested in that idea. I like you a lot, too, in case you weren’t aware. Our friends find it embarrassing how much I like you. At the same time, I would prefer to not hear the words ‘penetrative sex’ in reference to my own sex life ever again.”</p><p>“There are many types of sex. I just wanted to clarify,” Enjolras says, still blushing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Could Be Something As Simple As This

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The sex is vague, and decidedly awkward. Mostly actually fluff, but with dicks involved.

“D’you want to get out of here?” Enjolras asks, marking a page in his textbook.

R looks up, startled. They’ve been sitting in the library with minimal interaction for the better part of an hour and Enjolras has all but stopped working, distracted by the way Grantaire’s hands move, the way the tip of his tongue pokes out to wet his bottom lip, the curl of hair that sticks through the hole in his forest green beanie and Enjolras is painfully in love with his boyfriend.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“I asked you first.” Enjolras’s mouth curls up in a smile, he can’t help it. “But I am a bit hungry,” he confesses. “We could stop at that café. Or I could. If you don’t want to,” he adds, blushing.

“Enjolras,” R says, smiling and looking up through thick black lashes (and how the fuck is that supposed to be fair—) “Are you asking me on a date?”

And fuck if Enjolras’s brain doesn’t send his heart hammering through his chest at that because, well, yeah, he’d ask R on fifty dates at once if he could and make up for lost time, but most of him realizes this is impractical.

“I thought we were on a date already,” he says, pouting. They are actually already dating, and have been (they still owe Jehan a fruit basket for making them get their shit together) and he knows the pouting is ridiculous but the word “boyfriend” still makes him giddy. Sue him.

“You mean you don’t play footsie with Combeferre when you two are sharing a table?” Grantaire asks. Enjolras hesitates and before he can say anything Grantaire smiles. “Yes, yes, absolutely yes. To be honest, I cleared my schedule when you said you didn’t have anything going on this weekend.” A blush darkens Grantaire’s cheeks, and Enjolras has to resist the urge to climb over the table and kiss him.

“I love you,” Enjolras reminds him instead, smiling.

“I love you, too, you know.” They sit there smiling like idiots until Enjolras realizes this could be time better spent. Grantaire packs his books into his bag, and, standing, offers Enjolras his arm; Enjolras pauses to slide his gloves on before hooking his hand around Grantaire’s elbow.

They chat amicably on the way to the on-campus café but Enjolras’s face is starting to hurt from smiling too much and he can’t deny the way his pulse kicks up every time R laughs or at the way R’s body jerks like he’s trying to animate whatever story he’s telling, before he remembers he’s attached to Enjolras’s arm. (And, at the subsequent blush that spreads over Grantaire’s face the second time this happens.)

He makes Grantaire order first, pushing him ahead with an, “I don’t know what I want,” mostly because Enjolras knows he’ll try to pay. He still does, trying to worm an arm around and pass money to the cashier as Enjolras orders the first sandwich he sees on the menu and a large redeye to drink. Enjolras fends him off with one long arm and hands the cashier money with the other.

“I asked you on a date, ipso facto, I’m paying.”

Grantaire stops struggling.

“Did you even use that right?” he asks.

“Ask Marius,” Enjolras says, turning his attention back to the cashier.

She stares at him with wide eyes, frozen, and they both stammer out apologies as she shoves his money in the till and counts out the change. Flustered, Enjolras turns away and—“Here’s your coffee,” the girl says. Right. He reaches back and she hands him a paper cup, grinning.

“You guys are really cute.”

“I—he is, isn’t he?”

Grantaire swats him gently on the shoulder, but he’s blushing and  smiling in a distinctly fond manner, so it’s okay.

They find seats at a small, square table, carefully avoiding knocking their knees together as they sit. R’s leg is bouncing up and down, fingers tapping out a beat to match. He places his hand on the table, next to his coffee cup and stares at the wood grain.

“R, can—can I ask you something?”

Grantaire lets a breath out, soft, like he’s surprised.

“Of course,” he says. “You, uh, don’t need to ask my permission for that.”

Enjolras tangles their fingers together and sips at his coffee and tries to quell the butterflies that have erupted in his stomach with three deep breaths.

“Enjolras, please don’t be afraid to ask me things. If you’re afraid we’re doing this thing wrong,” Grantaire says, although his eyebrows pull together with worry, which probably means he’s concerned that he’s done something to offend Enjolras--a constant worry for him, Enjolras knows, but before either of them can say anything their food arrives.

“No, it's not that. But I was wondering,” Enjolras says, carefully swallowing a bite of sandwich, “If. Okay. So we’ve been dating for, what, thirty-seven days and a handful of hours now. And I was wondering--” He breaks off for a sip of coffee and clears his throat.

“Grantaire, if you are amenable, I would very much like to have penetrative sex with you. While I very much enjoy the other, ah, various displays of affection we have performed on numerous occasions, I feel this could introduce an entirely new level of intimacy into our relationship, and I am very interested in finding that type of intimacy. With you. Because I like you. A lot.”

Grantaire is blushing a furious red that Enjolras would find impressive if he wasn’t already a similar color. R’s mouth opens, and then shuts, and then opens again.

“Enjolras, I find that I am both incredibly amenable to and interested in that idea. I like you a lot, too, in case you weren’t aware. Our friends find it embarrassing how much I like you. At the same time, I would prefer to not hear the words ‘penetrative sex’ in reference to my own sex life ever again.”

“There are many types of sex. I just wanted to clarify,” Enjolras says, still blushing.

“And I appreciate it,” Grantaire says, softly, seriously, because he’s learned that Enjolras needs almost as much affirmation as he does. Enjolras squeezes his hand and smiles. “Did you have, like, you know, a--time frame?” Grantaire asks. “Oh god, that sounds really bad. Did you have a day in mind? Should I send out a save-the-date? Because I’m free whenever, but if you want this to be romantic and stuff I must say, I don’t keep a supply of rose petals and vanilla candles in the back of my closet. But I do keep condoms, although those are in the bathroom, actually--actually, perhaps we could discuss this somewhere that is not the middle of a coffee shop.”

Enjolras blushes red to his hairline. “I don’t have ‘sex with Grantaire’ marked down in my planner, if that’s what you’re asking; I thought I’d put it on the table.”

“You could put me on a table,” Grantaire suggests. “I’m very flexible that way.”

They leave almost as soon as they’re done eating.

“Back to mine?” Enjolras asks, hoping it’s not too presumptuous. The lunch rush is just starting and he would much prefer to be somewhere less crowded if he’s got R for the next couple of hours.

Grantaire nods and slips both of his bare hands into Enjolras’s gloved one, which means he’s also huddled up against Enjolras’s shoulder for most of the walk back. Not that he minds.

Finally, finally, they’re inside the door and Enjolras’s heart jackhammers again. Between the caffeine and Grantaire, he is so, so fucked. R pulls off his coat and hangs it on the hook by the door and Enjolras likes how it looks there and they’re both pulling off shoes and heading for the living room.

He pulls out the afghan they keep folded under the coffee table as Grantaire balls himself up in the recliner, curling his toes into the cushion and shivering.

“So,” Enjolras says, tossing him the afghan and standing unsurely in the middle of the room.

“So,” Grantaire echoes. “Do you want to sit down?”

Enjolras lets himself be pulled into the chair, tentatively folding himself over Grantaire’s lap and pulling the blanket around them.

“Did you…want to watch a movie, or something?” Enjolras asks.

“Or something?”

“I’d really like to kiss you, if that’s okay.”

“That is so very okay.”

But Grantaire is rarely comfortable making the first move, so Enjolras cups R’s cold face in his palms and leans in, brushing their lips together. And then, because he can, he does it again, more firmly this time, and then spends some quality time exploring the inside of Grantaire’s mouth, and it is nice. It is really, really nice, until Grantaire pushes him back gently, and Enjolras’s first instinct is to rocket across the room to the other couch but Grantaire’s hand is on his hip, firmly anchoring Enjolras to his lap.

“When are Combeferre and Feuilly going to be home?” Grantaire asks, and that is not the question Enjolras thought he was going to ask.

“Combeferre is staying at Courf’s tonight and Feuilly’s at a workers’ rights conference until Monday. Why?” Something (the warm feeling flooding his stomach, probably) tells Enjolras he knows where this is going, but he really wants Grantaire to say it.

“Would you like to try sex?”

“Yes, but--”

“But what?”

“You know what I’ve done, which is...not a lot. And--”

“And you’re worried,” Grantaire finishes, squeezing his hand.

“A little.”

“Enjolras, if you’re uncomfortable at any time, say the word and I will stop and we will talk about it. I do not want you feeling like you have to do something or that we can’t stop once we start. Okay? We’ll go slow, I promise.”

Enjolras nods, and kisses him, and then stands. He offers Grantaire his hand, and tugs them into the bedroom. Grantaire gently pulls the blankets to the foot of the bed and pushes him down, and Enjolras kicks off his socks and lets his cardigan drop to the floor before scooting up to the head of the bed.

"Alright, pause for logistics. Where do you want to be?"

"I am not averse to trying to top," Enjolras says, "But I'd prefer for you to fuck me. This time, at least."

"Okay."

Grantaire climbs onto the bed and kisses him like that for a while, propped up against the pillows. He’s finally starting to get comfortable enough with this--with them--to take more initiative in the physical aspect of their relationship, and Enjolras only has to nudge R’s hands for Grantaire to touch him. His stomach is fluttery and his whole body is warm with nervous excitement (alright, maybe it’s mostly his dick) when he finally pulls back.

“Should we--?”

Grantaire nods, pulling off his beanie, and then his socks. Enjolras yanks his own shirt off, realizing as he’s attempting to flatten down his badly mussed hair that he has just missed a prime opportunity to show off a little. He chases the thought off as the weird excited nervousness swells in his chest again, and looks up at Grantaire, who is still standing next to the bed with his thumbs tucked in the waistband of his ridiculously tight jeans.

“Are you okay?” Enjolras asks, because communication is important. Grantaire nods.

“It’s just...I’m not really much to look at and. Well.” He shrugs.

“Do we need to timeout and talk about this?”

“No? I don’t think so? I just wanted you to know that,” he says, and Enjolras is suddenly acutely aware that he has, in fact, never really seen Grantaire fully naked. They’ve shared the bathroom but never the shower and Grantaire only takes his shirt off once they’re both in bed and the lights are out and oh.

“It’s okay,” Enjolras says, kissing him. “I love you, you know. But I think we should timeout and talk about this.”

“No, really. We shouldn’t let my self-consciousness get in the way; I’m going to be self-conscious forever but that’s my issue. And you haven’t run off screaming yet, so.”

“What is it that worries you?” Enjolras knows he’s pressing and bites his lip.

“This might come as a shock to you, Enjolras, but I just have a weird body,” Grantaire says, shoving his pants down without ceremony. “I have, like, a metric fucking shit-ton of body hair and a lot of scars and, fuck, I should have shaved and--”

“Hey, hey,” Enjolras says, holding Grantaire’s wrists gently. “It’s your body. Don’t do something just because you think I’ll like it. I’ll love you regardless.”

“Okay.” Grantaire takes a deep breath, and nods. “Okay.”

Enjolras hugs him, burying his face in Grantaire’s neck, and after a moment the hug is returned.

“I like all of you, weird or not.”

“God knows why.”

“I know why. Someday maybe you will, too.”

Grantaire snorts. “Sap.”

Enjolras shrugs. “Good to continue?”

“All green, captain.”

Enjolras unbuttons his own tight corduroys, pushing them down and stepping out of them before turning to Grantaire again.

“Hi.” Enjolras kisses him until they’re both breathless, snaking a hand between them to palm at R’s cock. Truth be told, Enjolras’s leg is shaking a little bit but they’re both mostly hard so it’s kind of a mission accomplished.

“Can I see you?” Enjolras asks, resting his hands lightly on Grantaire’s hips. “You don’t have to take your shirt off if you don’t want to,” he says hurriedly.

“No, it’s okay,” Grantaire says. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Enjolras lifts the hem of his shirt, pulling up, over Grantaire’s head and obediently raised arms. He maneuvers them until they’re both on the bed, Grantaire propped against the pillows and Enjolras straddling him. He runs his hands over Grantaire’s exposed chest. He is hairy, his shoulders broader than Enjolras’s, but he’s not unfit or unattractive--not that it really matters--solidly built but leanly muscled from years of dance and his eyes and hair are to be waxed poetic about. He’s broader and more angular where Enjolras is all thin, soft, narrow curves, and Enjolras marvels.

“God you’re…”

“Grotesque?” Grantaire offers unhelpfully.

“God, fuck no, you’re just...you’re so fucking beautiful. I am so, so lucky.” He trails his hand down Grantaire’s stomach, tracing the line of hair and following it below the waistband of R’s boxer briefs.

“Enjolras, do you have a body hair kink that I need to know about?”

“Mmm,” Enjolras says, lowering himself until their bodies are sealed together. “No, but I have an R kink that needs attending to.”

Grantaire snorts and rolls them over, kissing Enjolras before settling between his legs. He kneels, and then blows a loud raspberry on the soft skin of Enjolras’s stomach. Enjolras giggles and Grantaire hooks his fingers in the waistband of Enjolras’s briefs--“Okay?”--Enjolras nods and lifts his hips up, letting Grantaire slide the offending garment off.

“Lube?”

“Top dresser drawer on the left,” Enjolras says, admiring Grantaire’s ass, and wow, it looks especially appealing from this angle. “You have a really cute butt,” he says, because communication is important.

“You have a cute everything,” Grantaire says, shucking his underwear and stroking himself before climbing onto the bed again and straddling Enjolras’s thighs.

“That’s a penis,” Enjolras says, pointing at Grantaire’s dick, and, wow, yes, good job, Enjolras.

“Goddammit, I thought it might be the Loch Ness Monster. You have had my dick in your mouth before, Enjolras. Do we need to slow down now?” Grantaire asks softly, kneeling down and kissing him.

“I need you to touch me,” Enjolras says with only the barest hint of nervousness.

He starts giggling again as Grantaire prods him with a cold, lubey finger.

“That goes in my ass,” he suggests helpfully.

“So helpful. What would I do without you?”

Enjolras’s face scrunches as R pushes his finger in and wiggles it.

“Have you ever fingered yourself before?”

“Does thinking about it count?”

“I don’t really think it does, in this case,” Grantaire says, and then does something with his fingers, pushes in a second and twists, making Enjolras moan.

Grantaire’s face is scrunched in concentration, a thin sheen of sweat gathering on his brow. His tongue pokes out between his teeth until Enjolras pulls him down for a kiss. Slowly, he works a third finger in alongside the other two and Enjolras gasps. His nervousness has all but faded, leaving heat coursing through his whole body.

“Hang on--need a moment,” he pants. R looks like he’s about to bolt and so Enjolras reaches up, cupping the side of his face. “It’s okay. I’m okay. You can move.”

He does and Enjolras moans loudly enough that 2B can probably hear.

“Can we--?”

Grantaire pulls away, patting around for the condom. His fingers slip when he tries to tear open the packet, and finally Enjolras pulls it out of his hands and tears it open on the first try. He reaches to stroke Grantaire’s cock but is almost immediately pushed away.

“If you do that I’m going to come,” Grantaire mumbles, rolling the condom on, and that should not be as hot as it is. “This is going to be better for you on hands and knees.”

“I want to--want to see you, your face,” Enjolras says, and R’s expression falls. “Next time, then?”

Grantaire breathes a sigh of relief. “I just want this to be good for you,” he says.

“It will be. It’s with you.”

Enjolras rolls onto his knees and elbows and Grantaire pushes in, agonizingly slow.

“Okay?”

“All green.”

Grantaire bottoms out and starts thrusting minutely, hands soft on Enjolras’s hips as though he’s afraid of breaking Enjolras.

“I’m not made of glass,” Enjolras says, reaching back to take R’s hand.

It takes a few minutes of coaxing but finally Grantaire starts to move.

“Oh god. Oh, oh god. This is not going to last long.”

It really, really isn’t. Enjolras starts laughing and Grantaire pinches his nipple, making him laugh harder.

“Are you laughing at me?” Grantaire asks, slowing his motion.

“Absolutely not it’s just--I’ve always thought I’d have better, um, stamina? Than this. Perhaps we should have loaded up on carbs.”

Grantaire presses his lips together, holding back a smile.

“There’s always next time, though,” Enjolras says softly.

“Ah, yes, when we will carbo-load for our triathlon of running, biking, and fucking,” he says dryly.

“Don’t forget to feed the Loch Ness Monster, too,” Enjolras says, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Oh my god, oh my, that is just--terrible.”

They have to stop moving once they start laughing, and once they start laughing it’s difficult to stop. Once they calm down, though, it doesn’t last long; but Grantaire at least has the courtesy to wrap a hand around Enjolras’s cock, jerking him off roughly as his thrusts lose what little rhythm they had to begin with. Enjolras follows his orgasm almost immediately, come splattering his stomach and Grantaire’s hand.

R ties off the condom and lobs it in the trashcan before collapsing on the bed.

“So,” he says, wiping them off with his abandoned underwear. “Have I scared you off sex forever?”

“God, no,” Enjolras says, curling into Grantaire’s side. “That’s my baseline. I need to collect more data before I can make a conclusive judgment.”

“It can be better than that.”

Enjolras rolls over, propping his chin on Grantaire’s stomach and looking up at him.

“Is it bad that it doesn’t have to be?” Grantaire snorts. “I’m serious,” Enjolras says. “It’s good because it’s you.”

“Thank god this was your baseline.”

“Well, you know what they say about practice,” Enjolras says drowsily, leaning up to kiss him.

“You may have to remind me,” Grantaire says.

“Mmm, I could show you, if you like.”

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“Yeah. I think I am.” Enjolras reaches for Grantaire’s hand, and Grantaire kisses the top of his head in return.

“Good. I accept,” Grantaire whispers.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we are. Brought to you by a person who is about as sexual as a watermelon, and has little experience writing sex. Or having it. Title from Simple As This by Jake Bugg.


End file.
